


Green Eyed Monster

by giantteenwolforgy



Series: Gimme All Your Lovin' [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, jealous!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantteenwolforgy/pseuds/giantteenwolforgy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck," Stiles says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Eyed Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Green Eyed Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834993) by [meanwhile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanwhile/pseuds/meanwhile)



> Anon prompt: "could u write a fic on deputy Parrish flirting with stiles and derek gets jealous?"

The red and blue lights start flashing when they’re careening down a back road and there’s a band of rabid fairies somewhere behind them and Derek is bleeding in the passenger seat. 

"Fuck," Stiles says. 

"Keep driving," Derek grits out, which is pretty much the worst idea ever and definitely a thing that Stiles will _not_ be doing. 

“ _Fuck_.”

"Stiles!" Derek snaps as he starts to slow down. "Keep. Driving."

"We are not getting arrested tonight," he hisses, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror again. "Shut up and look innocent."

"I am  _bleeding_ out of my _stomach_ ,” Derek says, nostrils flaring and Stiles wrestles off his sweatshirt and thrusts it in Derek’s direction.

"Put it on," he says, as they roll to a stop. “Just try not to bleed through it,  _please_ , this is my favorite hoodie.” He can feel Derek’s glare on the side of his face, but absolutely refuses to back down because Derek always gives in if he waits long enough. Sure enough when the cop’s car door slams shut, Derek huffs and yanks the sweatshirt away from Stiles, pulling it on with a grumble. 

Stiles has only a moment to crow over his victory (and completely ignore the way the sleeves stretch tight over Derek’s biceps) before the cop— _Deputy Parrish_ —is knocking on his window with a flashlight.

"Sir, do you know how fast you were— _Stiles_?”

"Hi," he says nervously.

"Hi," Parrish answers, tone considerably warmer. Derek stiffens beside him. "I didn’t know you were back," he continues, clearing his throat.

"Yep. Got back last week for Winter Break."

"You still at UCLA?"

"Graduating next semester."

"Good, good. You look good."

"So do you," Stiles answers automatically, because he’s a fucking idiot and he’s too busy checking the rear view mirror for approaching fairies to think of an appropriate response. 

Derek is looking out the windshield like he wants to fucking murder him, but Parrish doesn’t seem to be bothered by the comment. He’s smiling, at least. “Uh. So this is going to be kind of awkward.”

"Because you have to give your boss’s son a ticket?" Stiles asks, and he’s antsy and nervous and doesn’t even care about paying the fine as long as they can get the hell off of this creepy, defenseless back road.

"Because I promised myself the next time I saw my boss’s son, I’d ask him out for coffee."

And.

What.

Parrish leans a little closer and gives him such an obvious once over that Stiles can almost physically feel his gaze travelling up and down his body. His face flushes red. 

"Oh. Uh, okay, wow, I—"

There’s a sharp _crack_ next to him and he whips his head around to see Derek holding a large piece of plastic, a bland look upon his face. 

"Oops," he says.

Stiles’s lips thin. “Dude, what the hell! Did you just break my seat?”

"No," Derek answers, and it’s so obviously a lie that Stiles wants to punch him. 

"You’re fucking paying for that."

He doesn’t answer, just wedges the plastic somewhere under him and Stiles turns back to Deputy Parrish with an exasperated huff.

“Sorry, I—“ he trails off at the look on the Deputy’s face.

He looks sheepish and contrite, eyes flicking back and forth between Stiles and Derek. “Wow. I, uh, I am so sorry; I didn’t realize.”

“Realize?” Stiles furrows his brows. “What—“

“Forget it. And forget about the ticket. Uh.” He takes a step back from the car. “Just drive safer, alright? Have a nice night.”

“We will,” Derek calls and Parrish trips over his own feet on the way back to his car.

Stiles gapes at him, completely bewildered. “What the hell was that about?”

"Just  _drive_ ,” Derek growls. 

***

Stiles may be babbling a little bit; switching topics between strategies for future fairy attacks, foolproof methods of getting bloodstains out of clothes and the fact that he thinks he just inadvertently flirted his way out of a ticket (which he might be talking about a lot more than the other two things because it is seriously the coolest thing that has ever happened to him; he can’t wait to tell Scott).

“It  _was_  kind weird at the end though, wasn’t it?” he’s asking as he swings into a parking spot outside of Derek’s apartment. “Like, when he said to forget it you don’t think he meant forget about the date do you? Just the ticket? Anyways, I don’t think my dad would like that. I mean, I really should have gotten a ticket  _and_ a date. But, hey, I’m not complaining, and my dad has absolutely no business in my sex life, so—“

Derek makes a sudden, wounded noise and Stiles abruptly cuts himself off. “Whoa, dude. You okay?”

“Fine,” he says shortly. “I’m healing.”

Stiles’s eyes flick down to glance at the saturated fabric of his (ruined) sweatshirt. “Uhm. Okay, aside from the fact that you look like you’re still bleeding, that wasn’t what I meant.”

Derek sighs loudly and gives him an impatient look, gaze fixed on the buttons of Stiles’s shirt.

“I meant. Are you okay, like, emotionally? You seem kind of—quiet.” As soon as he says it, Stiles realizes it’s true. He doesn’t think Derek said one word the whole ride home.

 “Fine,” he says again.

“Look if this is about the broken seat, it’s not that big of a deal—“

“Stiles—“

“No, seriously, I was kind of flustered because of Parrish, so—“

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek all but snarls. “Go home. I don’t need your help.”

 “Derek. Jesus—what are you—why are you suddenly acting like…Did the fairies do something else to you?”

Derek’s fists clench in his jeans. “No.”

“Then what—“

“Maybe I’m just  _sick and tired_  of hearing about how fucking perfect Deputy Parrish is,” he spits out, eyes flashing electric blue.

Stiles stares at him, mouth hanging open and Derek promptly throws himself out of the car.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” he hisses under his breath, hastily undoing his own seatbelt. Regardless of what Derek had said about healing, he’s still moving much slower than normal, so Stiles catches up with him before he even makes it into the building.

“You are not getting away from me that easily,” he says, angrily holding open the front door so Derek can limp inside, right hand pressed tightly over his abdomen.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Derek grits out and Stiles bites his tongue, doesn’t say anything until they’re in Derek’s apartment and the door is shut.

“What is your  _problem_?”

“I don’t like him,” he answers tightly, wincing as he tugs Stiles’s sweatshirt off over his head.

“You don’t like Parrish,” Stiles repeats incredulously. “Since when?”

“Since forever.”

“That’s not true,” Stiles shoots back. He makes an abortive move towards Derek as he pulls his Henley off and reveals the stab wound, still oozing blood and caked black around the edges. “I,” Stiles swallows. “You told my dad last week that Parrish would be a good person to bring into the pack.”

“I  _changed_  my  _mind_.”

“Why?” Stiles demands, throwing a hand through the air. “Because he asked me out on a date? Fucking—Derek, that makes no sense! You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend or somethi—“

His voice cuts off on its own volition and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s the pinched, guilty look on Derek’s face or the way his shoulders are hunched and his head is bowed but everything suddenly just clicks and his heart drops from his chest and bounces into the soles of his feet and Derek is just fucking  _standing there_ , bleeding.

He swallows three times in quick succession, but when he speaks it still comes out hoarse. “You’re jealous?”

Derek clenches his jaw and looks away, towards the window.

Stiles lets out a whoosh of air. “God, you’re such a fucking idiot. Just. Sit down.”

Derek sits.

Derek is  _jealous_.

The thought is roaring in Stiles’s head as stumbles numbly to the bathroom, pulling a washcloth out of the closet and wetting it on autopilot. His hands are shaking slightly.

Derek’s still sitting on the couch when Stiles comes back.

“Hold still,” he says quietly, dropping down to his knees and pressing the towel to the wound.

Derek tenses under him. “You don’t have to—“

“Shut up,” Stiles says sharply. “I need to.” He wipes over the wound gently, trying to clear away some of the excess blood. Derek’s fingers twitch every time Stiles breathes out onto his stomach. “I can’t have this conversation when you look like you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Derek says immediately.

“Shut  _up_.”

Stiles has never done this before, never cleaned someone else’s wound; never pressed his fingers into the skin of Derek’s hip to try and distract him from the sting, never watched a wound close up and heal right in front of his eyes. It’s surprisingly intimate, and Stiles’s breathing is uneven when he’s done.

"Parrish is cute," he says, swiping the towel over the pink scar one last time time. "But. You’re better; you’re  _you_  and—”

He drops the washcloth onto the coffee table, looks up at Derek and has to stop and collect himself for a second because Derek is already looking back at him—eyes wide and dark and vulnerable.

“Stiles.”

“I can’t believe you never—why didn’t you just  _tell_ me?”

Derek’s fingers brush his wrist, tentative; like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch. “I didn’t think you’d—“ Stiles makes a noise deep in his throat, and Derek lips part. “But you do.”

“ _Duh_.”

There’s blood rushing through his ears and he’s never seen Derek like this—never seen him so open and wanting and pliant.  “I want you to—“ he sucks in a breath as Derek’s fingers circle his wrist and tug him gently up to the couch until they’re sitting next to each other, thighs pressed together. “Uh.”

“What,” Derek murmurs, even as he’s moving closer to Stiles, eyes roving all over his face. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want, you asshole,” Stiles breathes out, heartbeat ramping up another few thousand notches. God, it would be just like him to have a heart attack the second before Derek kisses him.

Derek is going to  _kiss him_.

Scratch that. Derek  _is_  kissing him.

Derek is  _kissing_  him, his mouth hot and surprisingly soft, dragging over Stiles’s lips again and again until Stiles makes this broken noise and lets his mouth fall open, lets his body press forward and Derek’s arms are sliding up his back, pulling him closer, sliding down his arms and up to his cheeks and touching him  _everywhere_.

“ _Stiles_ , I,” Derek moans against his lips and the sound goes straight to Stiles’s cock, makes his blood fizz like crazy inside him.

“What?” he gasps out, sweeping his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip and relishing in the way Derek’s breathing hitches. “What is it, what—tell me.”

“I don’t want you to—“ Derek groans and pushes back suddenly, so Stiles is lying flat on the couch and Derek is a heavy, delicious weight above him, smearing kisses onto his neck. “I don’t want you to go out with Parrish.”

“No fucking shit,” Stiles keens, his whole body flushing with heat from head to toe. Derek pulls away to glare at him and Stiles smiles crookedly up at him, lips feeling swollen and tingly and  _fuck_ , everything is perfect. “I can’t believe you were _jealous_ ,” he murmurs, fingers tracing down Derek’s chest. Derek’s mouth falls open on a heavy pant. “You’re so stupid sometimes.”

“Stupid for you,” Derek mumbles shyly, dipping back down to suck against Stiles’s pulse point.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans, voice high and upset. “Are you gonna say romantic shit like that a lot? I can’t handle this. You are so much better than I ever imagined—“

Derek hums against his neck. “So are you.”

"Fuck," Stiles says.


End file.
